


Under His Thumb

by Eralk Fang (EralkFang)



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ed Chambers is an awful human being, Felching, Humiliation, Identity Porn, Is it cuckholding if you do it to yourself?, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 13:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13741419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EralkFang/pseuds/Eralk%20Fang
Summary: “What,” Ed murmurs, “is a nerd like you doing with an ass like that?”“I—uh—I—” Richard stutters.Or, roleplay the Jared Dunn way.





	Under His Thumb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reserve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/gifts).



> Happy birthday, [reserve](reserve.tumblr.com)! Thank you for dragging me down the _Silicon Valley_ path so many months ago, so that I can, as I do for all things that I love, create irredeemable smut for it. 
> 
> Title inspired by the Rolling Stones' song.

No matter how long the wait or how edgy Richard’s anticipation becomes, it always happens so suddenly.

Richard lifts his head up from spitting into the sink, and Jared’s _there_ , all of a sudden, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, even the tall reflection in the mirror looming over him. The soft lighting of the bathroom barely scrapes beyond Jared to the dark hallway beyond.

Richard and Jared have been together long enough, both in general and, you know, _together_ , that it doesn’t startle Richard anymore when Jared, just, like, _Apparates_ out of thin air. It’s just one of The Things Jared Does. Despite that familiarity, a thrilling shiver goes down Richard’s spine as he straightens up from the sink. Jared’s posture against the doorframe is languid; his collar is unbuttoned and his tie is undone, just enough to expose the hollow of his throat. One hand is in his pocket and the other is holding an open can of Heineken.

And his eyes are _hungry_.

The beer is always what tips Richard off. Jared only keeps it in the condo for one reason.

It’s the only thing Ed drinks.

Ed takes a sip of the Heineken; Richard takes a sip of mouthwash. He gargles and spits as quietly as he can, eager to get started, but he’s not the one who gets to make that move.

That’s Ed’s territory, according to Jared. And accordingly to Richard himself.

Richard hurriedly wipes his mouth with one of Jared’s monogrammed hand towels, acutely aware of Ed’s eyes roaming over him freely. It’s not like there’s much to see—he’s still fully dressed, still wearing his sneakers, for Pete’s sake, and he’s, you know, _himself_ —but part of the set-up is how much Ed _wants_ Richard.

(Not that Jared doesn’t want him equally, if not more, in his devoted, disconcerting way but. It’s different. Ed is different. _This_ is different.)

“Hey,” Ed says, finally. Richard looks up and meets his hooded gaze in the mirror. Ed swirls his beer, and takes another sip. He’s loose-limbed in a way that Jared is not. He looks like they’re not at home in Jared’s condo, but maybe, in a club, one of those places where attractive people meet each other and somehow know they’re taking each other home. Ed is from a place like that, Richard decides, and he’s brought that place with him here.

“Hey,” Richard says back, quietly. He sets the towel aside and straightens up, watching Ed intently, feeling—not unpleasantly—like a deer.

“I’ve been watching you,” Ed says, raking such an obvious glance up and down Richard’s body that Richard almost _feels_ it strike his skin. It’s, uh, _hot_.

“You—you have?” Richard says. He bites his lip, more to worry at a chapped piece of skin than to be flirtatious, but it makes him feel a little bolder to see his reflection seemingly bite his lip _at_ Ed.

“Oh, yeah,” Ed says, amused. Ed’s voice is lower, more ragged than Jared’s even, tempered tones, and every word he says lands somewhere deep in Richard’s stomach. His eyes flick up to Richard’s; their blueness in the dim light almost takes Richard’s breath away. “I’ve been watching you—” Ed says slowly, and points, with the hand holding the Heineken, at Richard—“watch me.”

Even in this, the most controlled of controlled settings, Richard’s heartbeat accelerates as he turns around to face Ed, leaning back to half-sit on the (wet, _fuck_ , well, he’ll probably be naked or something soon enough) counter. “Well,” Richard says, “are you going to do something about it?”

Ed cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. He takes a step forward, into the light, and Richard always forgets how tall Jared really is. Jared’s gentle and apologetic about his height, folding down like a friendly robot to kiss Richard. Ed takes that same height and embraces it, makes it long, rangy. _Dangerous_.

Richard grips the edge of the counter as Ed fills his personal space. “W-what are you doing?” Richard asks, almost reflexively.

“Something about it,” Ed says carelessly. He sets the Heineken down on the counter with a metallic sound that echoes loudly in the quiet bathroom, and fists a hand in Richard’s t-shirt. Somewhere along the line, Richard thinks, his fight or flight response must have gotten rewired or maybe it was wired wrong from the beginning, because the slow burn of Ed’s attention already quickening his pulse feels like it’s been doused in gasoline with the threat of violence.

Ed yanks him up and off the counter so he can crush their mouthes together, kissing so much more forcefully than Jared that Richard feels like all he can do is stand there and take it, no matter how sloppily he finds himself kissing back.

Ed pulls away, leaving Richard a little short of breath, but he doesn’t stop touching him.

He trails a heavy, possessive, _perfect_ hand down his back slowly, as if Richard is new territory to him, new but soon to be conquered.

It’s disconcerting to Richard, sometimes, just how easy it is to tell between Ed and Jared. How easy it is for Jared to switch between the two, like a light going on and off, or the satisfying toggle of an analog switch.

Jared looks at him like he hung the moon—Richard’s figured it out, by now, that this is the way Jared’s _always_ looked at him—but Ed?

Ed looks at him like he’s a piece of meat. It shames and thrills Richard all at once for someone to find him so _mouthwatering_.

Richard gasps when Ed reaches his target, cupping his ass and pulling their hips flush as he, uh, _kneads_ at him, and Richard lets out a frankly embarrassing sound at the rough handling.

“Oh, _hello_ , what do we have here?” Ed murmurs, opening and closing his fingers to get a really good handful of Richard’s ass.

So, Richard _knows_ he has a bit of an ass. People assume he’s scrawny all the way through because he’s a programmer, he dresses like one, and he has a face like, he has been told, a self-conscious gremlin, but he, well, _does_. Have an ass.

Ed squeezes and Richard’s hips jerk forward, pressing him closer. Ed laughs, low and dark in Richard’s ear. “What,” Ed murmurs, close enough that his lips _almost_ brush against the shell of Richard’s ear, breath hot on his skin and stirring his hair, “is a nerd like you doing with an ass like that?”

“I—uh—I—“ Richard stutters. It’s hard to think with Ed feeling his ass up hard enough he can feel his—oh boy— _hole_ getting tugged at a little and his dick starting to fill from. Just. All of it.

“I’ll tell you why,” Ed says, like he didn’t even hear Richard stutter, and it’s kind of awful but Richard likes that? Ed begins _massaging_ Richard’s ass with both hands, and Richard’s face heats up at the fact that his ass fits into Ed’s big hands so _nicely_. Groping is the more accurate term, Richard thinks, dazedly, as he cants backwards into Ed’s onslaught and stifles a noise, but that kind of language upsets Jared. “You came out here tonight to show it off because you want someone to give it the kind of _fucking_ it deserves. Am I right?”

Ed says “ _fucking_ ” so forcefully Richard flinches. “I-I mean—”

“I know I’m right, fucking look at you.”

“Oh, dear God,” Richard pants nervously, dick stirring significantly in his pants, and he _yelps_ when Ed presses a wet, scraping kiss to the the side of his neck. His mouth feels so hot Richard wonders briefly, stupidly, if he’s being burnt.

“Get up on the counter,” Ed orders, and Richard has barely started to move before Ed yanks him up onto the counter by his thighs, pulling his legs around his waist. Suddenly, Ed is overwhelming and already half-hard against Richard, kissing him with careless teeth, shoving his tongue down his throat.

Richard feels dizzy—definitely from the attention, and also maybe from the lack of air?—and grabs blindly against Ed’s back, wrinkling Jared’s blazer, grinding their hips together. “Whoa, hey,” Ed mutters against his mouth, as if Ed isn’t the one that escalated the situation in the first place.

Richard chases his mouth but Ed plays keep away. “You are really hard up for it,” Ed observes, with a note of pleased surprise. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on Ed’s neck, just in the dip of his collarbone, and Richard wants to lick it off. “You little slut,” Ed says fondly, and Richard feels his ears burn and his cock fill.

Ed steps away, and Richard makes a frustrated noise at the lack of heat and closeness and—and Ed’s scent. Jared, never one to shy away from total commitment to whatever Richard so desires, has a cologne reserved just for Ed.

If Axe body spray technically counts as cologne.

Ed laughs, catching at the drawstrings of Richard’s hoodie. “You’re coming back to my place,” Ed says, not asking, and pulls, slowly. Richard follows, more than willing.

“Ed’s place" is the living room. They don’t turn on the light. Richard likes that, in the same near-frightened way he likes everything else about this scenario; it feels seedier, doing it in the dark, by the light of cars passing by. Like it would be bad to be caught with Ed, like this.

He and Jared have fooled around (Jared's terminology) in here before with the lights on, but they don't fuck out here. Jared prefers a bed and, anyway, they have a rubber sheet down for Richard's night sweats, so it's almost as good as doing it in the shower (also Jared's terminology).

Ed doesn't give a flying fuck about protecting the furniture. He sprawls out on Jared’s light grey West Elm couch like a, a fucking football captain or something better, more high stakes—maybe one of those emperors that spent all their time feasting and fucking. The Heineken is still in his hand, or maybe Jared set one aside for the living room. _Binds on pick-up_ , Richard thinks giddily, hyperaware of his raging erection.

A car passes, shifting light onto Ed briefly, and _wow_ , there’s a little James Spader circa _Pretty in Pink_ in him. It’s been too quiet too long, Richard realizes, and he takes a lurching step forward.

Ed rakes his eyes up and down his body. “C’mere,” he says, crooking his fingers in a come hither motion, and Richard imagines where those fingers might end up before the night is over. Richard never knows exactly what’s going to happen on an Ed night.

(“Actually, in submitting to Ed, _you’re_ the one who is perfectly in control,” Jared had said.

“Sort of not the point, Jared,” he’d said, but he’d squeezed his knee all the same.)

Richard moves forward and stops. “How do you, uh, want me—”

With the same two fingers that summoned him forward, Ed makes a circular motion. “Turn around,” he says. “I wanna see exactly what I’m working with here.”

“Didn’t you kind of already do that?” Richard mutters, under his breath, but he turns on his heels and spins in a slow circle, stopping with his back to Ed.

“Mmm,” Ed murmurs darkly, the satisfied sound making Richard flush. “Nice, very nice,” he says. When Ed touches him, fingertips tracing the backs of his thighs, Richard tenses, and Ed makes a soothing noise—something that would sound totally natural coming from Jared, but sounds patronizing coming from Ed.

Richard’s dick twitches at the thought.

“It’s okay, baby,” Ed says. “I’ll give you what you need.”

A pang of self-consciousness hits Richard at being called “baby”—it’s not something Jared really calls him, especially not in the sleazy way Ed says it. It’s something they agreed upon, something that Richard asked for, something that’s part of the whole Ed package, but he’s still—he’s still getting used to it, and sometimes it just drives him out of his head, which makes him feel more self-conscious and—

And Ed is a horrible person and purposefully so, but he is still, nonetheless, portrayed by someone who _knows_ Richard and how to help Richard over hurdles like this. So Richard yelps when Ed grabs his hips and tugs him, forcefully, backwards onto his lap, hissing when his ass makes contact with Ed’s own erection.

Ed’s hand is up his shirt before he even really registers it, long fingers brushing against his slack stomach and tracing short little strokes on his skin as he slowly pushes up and up and _up_. “Mmm,” Ed mumbles against his neck, licking and kissing like they never left off in the bathroom. “Soft,” he says—or accuses?—and squeezes, _gropes_ , again, and Richard goes a little boneless against him, self-consciousness forgotten for a brief moment.

It goes like that for a while—squeezing and kissing and murmuring into his ear—until Richard’s so hard he feels like he might die if he doesn’t get his pants off. Which he tries to say to Ed, but all that comes out is a choked groan.

“What’s that?” Ed asks, grinding his erection against Richard’s ass _slowly_ , pinning his hips down. “What’s that, baby?”

“ _Fu-uck_ ,” Richard whines, sags, and then tenses when Ed pinches a nipple. Ed’s hands withdraw from his shirt and press at his hips, tugging him into a better position—for what, Richard only realizes when there’s a sharp tug of his belt being tightened enough for the latch to pop out on its own.

Ed opens his fly. The sudden presence of his hand brushing against Richard’s erection makes Richard grunt with need, before Ed _yanks_ his pants down.

Ed briefly—too briefly—palms Richard’s dick through his boxers. “Christ,” Ed pants against his ear, “you’re already wet for me,” and Richard flushes all over. Jared won’t call him wet—“don’t let anyone tell you you don’t need lubrication for anal play, Richard”—but fuck, he _feels_ wet, suddenly hyper-aware of the small wet spot he’s making on his striped boxers. Ed licks the shell of Richard’s ear. “Get yourself wetter.”

Richard is shoved unceremoniously off of Ed’s lap, catching himself awkwardly on his side with his pants in a tangle. He scrambles to right himself, sitting with his back against the arm of the sofa. Ed turns to match him, but otherwise… does nothing. Just sits there, bulge evident in his pants, and _leers_. “Come on, baby,” Ed says. “Put on a little show for me.”

Oh, Jesus, the idea of being Ed’s sexy entertainment hits him like a freight train in two different directions: a desire to bolt from the room, erection bedamned (normal, usual) and a desire to do exactly what Ed wants and to do it _well_ (not normal, unusual). Richard pants, trying to catch his breath.

He glances back at Ed. Sometimes, when he gets like this during Ed nights, Jared surfaces a little, to check, but in a weird kind of way, Richard wants Ed nights to be nights where he doesn’t do that. Doesn’t check.

Just _takes_.

Ed is smirking at him.

Richard nods shortly and feverishly to himself and kicks off his shoes to finally free himself from his pants and boxers and socks. But when he reaches for the shoulders of his hoodie, Ed reaches out a big hand. “Leave it on,” he says, and grins.

Richard obeys, feeling a lot more exposed with his omnipresent hoodie and t-shirt on. His already hard dick pulses, and—okay, that was probably the entire point. He sits back against the arm of the sofa and pulls his knees up, feet flat on the middle cushion.

Ed straightens in his seat and leans forward. “Lift your hips up,” he orders, and Richard’s body complies before his brain processes it. He tilts his hips to the ceiling and scoots down, spreading his legs a little wider. His already aching balls are starting to feel heavy. He lifts up his right leg to spread himself further, resting it on the back of the couch, and he snakes his right arm around his thigh to—

“There it is,” Ed says, sing-song. “Your greedy little hole.”

Richard feels himself blush, and he presses two fingertips near, not against, his hole. “You—you think you can handle it?” he tries to bluff.

“Baby,” Ed _purrs_ , _fucking_ _purrs_ , and drops his hand to his crotch. If Ed takes his dick out _while_ Richard is fingering himself open, Richard is going to a.) die and b.) come, in exactly the wrong order. But he doesn’t; he just palms himself in a way that can only be described as _meaty_. “I’ve got exactly what you need right here. But you gotta show me you can handle it.”

“I can handle it,” Richard says, too quickly, biting his lip as his questing finger presses home. There’s a moment of negotiation where Richard glances at Ed, but Ed’s already turned away to yank open the drawer of the nightstand and produce a half-used bottle of lube—the really nice silicone one Richard had bought in a fit of courage _from an actual person at an actual sex store_.

“Oh, this is the good shit,” Ed says, inspecting the faded label, before extending it to Richard.

“It’s my boyfriend’s,” Richard says, almost off-handedly.

It’s not—it’s not _always_ a part of an Ed night, talking about Jared. But Richard feels himself flush all over at the look Ed gives him, and swallows when Ed leans forward, something sharp and dark in his pale face. “Your _boyfriend_ know what you get up to?”

“N-no,” Richard says.

“Good,” Ed says, and Richard _gasps_ , because Ed’s pumped cold lube out of the bottle sort of directly on him. More sort of generally on his hand; he can feel some of it drip off, like _he’s_ so wet he’s dripping. Richard groans at the idea and presses the tip of his finger into himself.

He circles his rim with two fingers. He knows better than to start with two—“you’re so tense,” Jared always, _always_ says, and goes so gently Richard could scream sometimes—but it’s not long before he’s easing his middle finger in alongside his index finger and scissoring himself open. He’s trying, sort of desperately, not to hit anything important, but when he presses them in to his knuckles, he inadvertently tightens around his fingers, and he sort of brushes against his prostrate. Richard gasps. His dick leaks.

“Fuck me,” Ed breathes reverently, and then he—oh God, he _does_ unzip his fly and casually takes out his dick, and Richard almost feels like his mouth is flooding. His fingers suddenly feel like not enough, even as he continues to press them in, rubbing circles on his inner walls and scissoring his fingers. The too-abundant lube feels both luxurious and filthy; just feeling how _wet_ he is makes his dick pulse.

“Fuck _me_ ,” Richard says, a little desperately. “Give me that dick.”

“Oh, you want this?” Ed asks, like it’s a surprise. He strokes himself once, lazily.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Richard grunts.

“If you want my dick in your ass,” Ed says, “get it wet.”

Richard’s fingers stop moving. “Um,” he says, laughing a little nervously, erection faltering a little, “what?”

“If you want my cock up your ass so you can get the fucking you so obviously _need_ , then you get on your knees right now and suck my dick.”

Jared never orders Richard around. He makes collaborative suggestions. He _wants the best for Richard_ , even in bed.

Ed just wants a warm, wet hole to fuck. Richard finds himself on the floor, kneeling between Ed’s wide-spread knees before he even really realizes he’s moved.

“Keep yourself open, but do _not_ fuck yourself,” Ed warns. The Heineken is long forgotten on the side table, because one of Ed’s hands is fisted around the base of his dick and the other one is in Richard’s hair, guiding these two things together.

Richard keeps his mouth closed for a moment, just sort of… pressing his lips against the hot, slick skin of the head of Ed’s cock, rubbing them there for a second. He closes his eyes for a second to rearrange his fingers. His—God!—his _hole_ feels exposed and wet as he kneels, the hem of his shirt and hoodie brushing against his stomach, dick and ass just hanging out like—like the slut he is.

Richard suffers a roiling wave of desire so intense it almost makes him nauseous, but it passes.

Ed’s hand tightens in Richard’s curls, and Richard opens his mouth. There’s a moment where Richard actively takes the head of Ed’s dick into his mouth, bitter coating his tongue, and then Ed is pushing forward further and further into his mouth, against the widest part of his tongue, and that brief moment of control is _gone_.

It's not that Ed's dick is bigger than Jared’s—it literally can't be, _it's the same dick_. And it’s not like Richard has a baseline for how big a dick should feel in your mouth as it fucks towards your throat. He only has one dick datapoint.

Ed yanks his hair forward, forcing him down that crucial last inch and a half. It must be how he uses it, Richard thinks stupidly as he breathes determinedly through his nose. The proverbial motion in the ocean.

"Shit, that feels good," Ed groans somewhere above him, and Richard feels _pride_ at that sound. If Richard glanced up, he wouldn't be able to see much; the room is dark. And Ed's hands are fixed in his hair, holding his head steady as Ed begins to move—slowly, at first, grinding into Richard's mouth.

"You're so good at this, Richard,” Ed says, breathlessly. “Letting me fuck your slutty holes however I want. Only _fucking_ thing you're good for."

Tears burn and prick in the corners of Richard's eyes, and he's so hard he's worried he might come on the spot. He whimpers around Ed's cock, throat contracting as he fends off his gag reflex.

"Fuck—you love this," Ed sneers. "You love running your mouth all day and then coming here to me so I can fill it with something better. Isn't that right, you little _slut_?"

Richard shifts back, somehow, like, _forgetting_ he has two fingers up his own ass, and fucks himself further through sheer gravity. He moans around Ed’s cock and feels a little triumphant when Ed pulls him off and up, _at last._

And up and _up_ , until Richard has to straddle Ed on the sofa, hands catching on the back of the furniture. Ed tugs him into place by the back of his thighs, grabbing and squeezing. There’s a moment where Ed’s breath is hot on his stomach and he wonders if Ed’s going to kiss his skin, which, might, uh, end things early, but he doesn’t. Instead, he draws Richard’s hips down, and—

 _Oh_.

Richard’s known since Ed shoved him off his lap that this was the point tonight, of the whole charade, the carefully careless and casual build-up, but it still knocks the wind right out of him when he feels Ed’s cockhead push insistently at his hole. Jared is always so careful, murmuring a play by play every inch of the way, petting his sides and kissing his hair. But Ed? There’s a very real chance Ed would just heedlessly and selfishly push into him, push and _push_ …

The idea of Ed taking that liberty with him goes to Richard’s head, and his burning thighs fail him momentarily, just enough to render the idea a self-fulfilling prophecy as Richard breaches himself on Ed’s cock.

“Greedy little _slut_ ,” Ed says, grin wolfish and eyes dim in the half-light, and pulls Richard’s hips down the rest of the way.

Richard closes his eyes and tries to breathe through his nose—there’s no Jared here, in a weird sense, even though he’s _right there_ , to help him through that initial sting of “too much.”

After a few minutes of unrelenting fullness, Richard feels brave enough to try shifting his hips just a fraction, and the low, serrated noise it draws out of Ed makes his own breath catch. Richard shifts his grip on the back of the couch, rising up on his knees, and begins to slowly move up and down. Slowly, because if he goes faster, he’ll make himself come on Ed’s dick.

“That’s right, baby,” Ed coos nastily. His hands trail lightly over Richard’s thighs as he bounces slowly up and down. “Show me what that nice ass of yours can do.”

Richard feels himself flush in blotches, and he begins to—oh, Jesus—he begins to _ride_ Ed, as Ed just lays back there and doesn’t do much more than grab at his ass. Which is more than enough.

Richard bites his lip and tries to focus on getting the momentum right and not coming all over Ed’s chest whenever he manages to hit just the right spot. Jared shepherds and shapes his orgasms like a cross between a hedonist and a midwife; Ed couldn’t give less of a shit.

(Although, at the core of _this_ , it’s Jared all over, and Richard’s pounding heart squeezes a little.)

He doesn’t realize his eyes have closed until Ed grabs him by the jaw, pulling his head down.

“Look at me,” Ed orders. “Are you thinking of him?”

Richard wasn’t—at least, not directly, only in comparison—but he smirks at Ed as best he can with his cheeks squeezed together. “Maybe I am.”

Ed screws up his face and actually _smacks_ Richard on the ass, thrusting up into him and catching him off-guard. Richard yelps, and then yelps again when Ed _withdraws_ , leaving him feeling empty and stretched and wet.

“I’ll make you forget that pussy,” Ed threatens darkly, and he shoves Richard down onto the sofa.

Directly face down on the sofa, the soft corduroy against his stomach and dripping cock making him feel so filthy his face feels like it’s on fire. Not that Ed can see his face, as his head is awkwardly pressed to the side. He can’t see much of anything; as a car passes by, all he sees is their poorly defined shadows against the wall.

But he can hear and feel Ed’s weight shift as he finally gets up, grabbing Richard roughly by the hips, spreading his cheeks open far enough that he can feel cool air against his slick, open rim. _Shit_ , Richard thinks, feeling almost delirious. He is not going to last long.

Richard _yelps_ when Ed half-presses, half-shoves his thumb against his rim and _into_ him, both too much by virtue of Ed’s insistent nature and not enough _because it’s not his dick_. “Look at you,” Ed condescends sweetly. “All wet and open. Are you going to beg for my dick? Gonna beg me to fuck you?”

Instead, Richard pushes back onto Ed’s thumb, unable to stop groaning as he gets not nearly enough of what he—fuck!— _needs_.

“Greedy slut,” Ed hisses. There’s a moment of silence as Ed lines them up, and the bump of Ed’s wet cockhead against his hole makes Richard scream out something awful.

“Language, Richard!” Ed tuts mockingly. “What if your prissy boyfriend could hear you?”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Richard pants. “I don’t care if he hears, I want you to _fuck_ me, Jesus, please—”

Ed obliges.

Richard tries to stay _at least_ on his elbows, Jesus, but it’s hard when Ed’s dragging his hips back, fucking him back onto his cock. The corduroy feels _weird_ but weird _good_ against his cock, and he hisses out another string of curses as he tries valiantly _not_ to come underneath Ed’s onslaught.

“I can tell that pussy doesn’t _fuck_ you right,” Ed says, bending over him, planting a confident hand by Richard’s head as he murmurs into Richard’s ear. “You’re so _tight_.” The tease of Ed’s warm mouth against Richard’s ear, makes him want to whine.

But, instead, in a moment of crazed inspiration, he turns his head. “Who says I let him fuck _me_?”

There’s a moment of impressed silence, and then Ed, egged on, redoubles his efforts. It becomes too much—Richard goes down from his elbows on the next thrust, and then Ed is just _using_ him, planting a hand on his lower back and fucking him so ungently that Richard will cherish the bruises—

For as much as he’s been actively staving it off, Richard’s orgasm strikes him by surprise. Ed shifts his hips and hits him at just the right angle, and Richard feels like he’s been punched in both the dick and sternum in the best possible way. (Oh, yeah, he’s been wired wrong.) He goes limp against the couch, his deep sigh interrupted by Ed punching out little overstimulated noises from him.

Ed grunts and slams in one last time, holding Richard’s hips firmly in place as he spills into Richard. The wetness and fullness of it makes Richard both suffer another wave of desire and a note of panic. This is why he so rarely lets himself get fucked—he likes it so much it scares him.

Richard shifts weakly on the couch and Ed pulls out, slapping his softening cock against Richard’s wet, loose hole. Ed gives him a jocular slap on the ass, but Richard is suddenly too exhausted and satisfied. He doesn’t even care that Ed is leaving the room, abandoning him, treating him like the cheap slut he is. He rolls his hips against the sofa at the idea, but he’s spent.

He lays there for a little while, or means to, but he must fall asleep, because it feels like he just blinks and Jared is there, kneeling bedside him, eyes kind and hand gentle on his shoulder. Jared’s changed and probably showered, because there’s no trace of Ed about him. He looks like himself. He smells like himself. He seems like himself.

Jared is such a good actor it scares Richard sometimes.

“Richard?” he asks, in his soft voice, and Richard’s heart leaps a little. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, although the occasional bruise helps. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Richard grunts, shifting his head to look at Jared. His jaw is sore and he can feel some of his curls sticking to his forehead with sweat. “Just… you know. Sore.”

Jared nods in his eternally understanding way. Richard flushes as he thinks of what he must look like, like this—naked from the waist down, hoodie and t-shirt rucked up, lying in his own come, and Ed’s come slowly dripping out of him onto Jared’s nice couch.

Can you even dry clean a couch?

Richard drops his gaze, feeling a faint edge of shame, despite the fact that, at the end of the day, _Jared_ did all this. Jared runs a calming hand along his back.

“Oh, _Richard_ ,” Jared breathes. “Did you let him—”

“Yeah,” Richard says, unsure if he’s boasting or confessing. “I let him come in—I—I took it. I took it all.”

Jared’s hand dips lower, until his fingers brush against the bare skin of Richard’s lower back, sweat cooling. Richard, despite how _wrung_ out he feels, shivers. “Richard,” Jared asks, “would you let me clean you up?”

And this, too, is part of the whole arrangement. Jared will let Ed will take Richard apart, ruin him, abandon him—but only if Jared gets to clean him up and put him back together.

Richard nods. He closes his eyes, as if drowsing, but it’s more to focus on the feeling of Jared’s hand on his skin, rubbing and massaging his ass. He wonders if he has a bruise. He feels another drop of come spill down the crease of his thigh and onto the sofa as the movement tugs his slowly tightening hole open.

He grunts when he feels Jared’s breath warm against his ass. The sofa cushions shift as Jared tries to awkwardly situate himself, and it’s—it’s endearing, the juxtaposition between Jared being so careful and considerate and what, Richard has just realized, he’s about to do.

Richard doesn’t get much warning before Jared spreads him gently open and dives in as if he’s an ice cream cone and not a pretend slut. Before Jared, Richard hadn’t known people actually _did_ that—he’d seen it in porn, of course, but he’d thought it was, like total body hair removal. Technically possible, but at what cost?

But Jared isn’t like him. When it comes to sex, he doesn’t lack vision. Or possess shame. Despite being so spent, Richard still groans as Jared licks a broad, wet stripe against his cleft and sets himself, in his efficient way, to licking and sucking his own come out of Richard.

Sometimes Jared can make him come one more time like this; tonight’s not going to be one of those nights, Richard can tell. But Richard still loves it, that lazy swirl of almost arousal, dick growing a little hard against the cushions as Jared plunders him with his mouth, reclaiming him like this.

Jared _hums_ into him, sucking at him like he could suck it all out to the last drop, and Richard sighs, loud and long. Is it cuckholding, he wonders, if you do it to yourself?

Jared makes a swallowing sound that is just _obscene_ in the quiet of the living room. Oh God,they’re still in _the living room_. He straightens up and covers Richard’s body with his own. Kind of… like forward spooning, which is good, because Jared’s weight on him always helps. With after. Getting fucked out of his wits like this helps too, helps _a lot_ , but when the high of one of Ed’s “visits” wears off, he’s always glad to find himself under Jared’s thumb.

“I missed you,” Richard admits, turning his face back to kiss Jared, bracing himself for the taste. Jared gives him a kiss so sweet and chaste it feels dirtier for what he’s actually been doing.

“I’m always here,” Jared reassures him. “I always will.”


End file.
